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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS, 



GATHERED BY 



" M A G Cx I E. 



Wayside Flowers, 



GATHERED BY 



"MAGGIE." ^.^..V' 

2 ^ ///* '-"^'i *ct'-m^<^i^ 




J^\.000 2 i /. 



RICHMOND, VA. 
Whittet & Shepperson, iooi Main StreetT 
1880. 






Entered according lo act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 

WHITTET & SHEPPERSON, 

In the Office of the Libra rian of Congress, at Wasliington , D. C . 



Printeii by Bound by 

\VinTTKT & Sheppersom, Randolph & English, 

Richmond, Va. Richmond, Va. 



THESE 

"WAYSIDE flowers" 

ARE TENDERLY, REV.ERENTLY, 

DEDICATED 

TO 

A BELOVED MOTHER, 

AND THE 

MEMORY OF A SAINTED BROTHER. 



PREFACE. 



With strange reluctance and tender regret 
we launch our frail bark on the literary sea, 
knowing so well how utterly unable is all our 
great love to shield it from one blast of criti- 
cism's storm. We have culled these wayside 
blossoms amid varied scenes and circumstances. 
Some were gathered in gladness, some in sorrow, 
—oft-times the shadows which surrounded us and 
them tending to bind us yet closer in the bonds 
of an inexpressible affection. If they shed but 
a momentary fragrance on some shadowed life, 



8 PREFACE. 

or throw a transient gleam of sunlight o'er a 
darkened pathway, their mission will be filled, — 
the writer content. Therefore, loosing the chart 
and compass, I let them drift out with the tide, 
praying God to grant them a safe voyage and 
happy anchorage, and asking all to remember 
'tis but a girlish bard who sweeps the harp- 
strings: pause, and list her minstrelsy. 



C N T E N T S. 



Dedication, 6 

Preface, ^ 

Only Violets, I3 

A Girl's Sermon, H 

October, i6 

To Mother,..- i8 

Only a Card in the Basket, 20 

What is Life? 22 

Lines in Reply to " What is Life ?" . 24 

The Old Homestead, 25 

Happy New Year, 29 

For an Album, 3^ 

Williamston, Past and Present, 32 

One Year Ago, 39 

A Leaflet, 4i 

Only a Prayer, 44 

A Leaf from the Gallery of Memory, 46 

A Tribute of Esteem, 55 



lO CONTENTS. 

Album Selections, 57 

Only Pansies, 58 

Carrier's Address, 60 

A P>agnient, 65 

Lines for an Album, 66 

Friendship's Ofifering, 67 

Retrospection, 69 

A Fragment, 71 

Lines on a White Rose, 73 

"In my Father's House," 74 

No Night in Heaven, 76 

' ' Forsake the World and Follow Me, " 78 

A Leaf from the Gallery of Memory, ' 80 

The County Monument, -84 

The Golden Locket, " 87 

They are Waiting, _• 89 

A Fragment, 91 

The Prayer of the State, 93 

A Fragment, 95 

Spring, 97 

Baby's Prayer, 98 

Lines on a Sunset, 100 

Twilight Musings, lOl 

A Tribute of Love, 103 

Rosabel, 105 

Musings, 107 

The Last Song, 109 



•WAYSIDE FLOWERS, 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



ONLY VIOLETS. 

Only violets, fragrant and blue, 
Crowned with pearls of morning dew. 
Telling of absent friend so true. 

Only violets, but gathered for you ; 
And yet, my friend, you can't tell who 
Gathered these violets ; guess, now do. 

Then let these violets typical be 

Of the friendship pure I bear for thee 

Love and keep them, just for me. 



14 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



A GIRL'S SERMON. 

I WAS thinking to-night of God's wond'rous love 

For the children of men below ; 
How with pity He watched from His home above 

Our wanderings to and fro. 

Tenderly He guides our wayward feet 

Into the narrow way ; 
Sinner and saint at the cross may meet — 

To none will He say nay. 

All erring lambs He gently takes 

Into His loving arms ; 
All who plead for Jesus' sake 

He shelters safe from harm. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 1 5 

" To love the Lord," God grant we may, 

As angels do above ; 
Burying the sorrows we find by the way 

In the sea of eternal love. 



1 6 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



OCTOBER. 

October with all its glorious beauty has swept 
away almost every trace of summer, and reigns 
the queen right royally. Her mornings dawn 
grand and lovely as the prayer of faith, her eve- 
nings gather softly 'round us like benedictions oi 
the just. Her rainbow tinted forests and gor- 
geous sunsets ; her faUing leaves and starry twi- 
lights, all tell me in their own mystic way of Life, 
Death and Heaven : Life, with its fascinating 
joys, hopes and aspirations ; Death, with its icy 
hand, sombre pall, and funeral pageantry ; Hea- 
ven, that paradise of God, with its pearly gates 
and golden streets, having palms and crystal 
streams ; no sighs there, neither tears, for all 
is love, joy, peace and rest. Of all the year it 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 1 7 

is to me the psalm, — a tender, tremulous, soul- 
thrilling psalm of penitential love and thanksgiv- 
ing, in which the voice of all nature joins, swell- 
ing in cadence of heavenly sweetness earth's 
vetiite exultimus. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



TO MOTHER. 

Life is short, but its checkered path 
How many a weary winding hath ; 
Dear mother, lean heavier still on me,' 
Together we'll breast life's turbulent sea. 

My arms are around thee, my hand in thine. 
Your joys and your sorrows shall ever be mine; 
The clouds are dark, but beyond 'tis light, 
The dawning will break o'er the darkest night. 

I know that with pain your hours are rife, 
Each day and hour of your invalid life ; 
But hear you the Nazarene sweetly say, 
" Truly thy strength shall be as thy day." 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 1 9 

Together we'll kneel at Calvary's cross, 
Finding His love, — count all else dross ; 
For, mother, the Shepherd forgets not His fold, 
And not even a lamb leaves out in the cold. 



20 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



ONLY A CARD IN THE BASKET. 

'TwAS only a card in the basket, 
To tell that a friend was here, 

Wishing and waiting to see me, — 
A friend whom my heart holds dear. 

It lay in the quaint little basket. 

Of glittering silver and gold, 
And told of a love and friendship 

Which the world can never make cold. 

This friend was a little lassie. 
With a fair and delicate face ; 

In my heart of hearts she is imaged, 
For all her winsome grace. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 2 1 

'Tis thus our life-path is brightened 
And cheered by love's pure ray, 

'Till we lose earth's shadows and sorrows 
In the light of the golden day. 



2 2 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



WHAT IS LIFE? 

'Tis an earthly drama in which we all must 
act our parts ; 'tis a surging sea wherein we're 
tossed at will of waves o'er ocean's crest ; a 
summer sky with drifting clouds, whence mid- 
night storms and sunshine come. 

A hope, — a fear,— a joy, — a sorrow, — a light, — 
a shadow; a fleeting vapor, a short probation 
wherein to plant bright flowers by the wayside, 
to crown some life with beauty and fragrance, 
when perchance the hand which nursed them 
into bloom is cold and still, quietly folded o'er 
the pulseless breast, its mission fulfilled, its life- 
work ended, attesting with all the solemnity of 
death — what is Life ? 



Wayside flowers. 23 

Far across the emerald crowned hills, sighing 
througli the forests of leafy green, borne on the 
flower-laden breath of Spring, through the deep 
hush of night cometh the solemn interrogation — 
What is Life ? 



24 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



LINES IN REPLY TO "WHAT IS LIFE?' 

'Tis a little space of time, 

To us allotted here below ; 
A snatch of song, a simple rhyme, 

A funeral knell, a wail of woe. 

A dream, a happy dream of love, 

A hope, a sigh, a doubt, a fear ; 
If earth grows dark, 'tis bright above. 

In heaven 'tis joy undimmed by tears. 

What is life ? 'Tis a surging sea. 

Tossing our barks o'er its waters deep ; 

Yet a haven is open for you and me, — 

The Shepherd will come for His waiting slieep. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 25 



THE OLD PIOMESTEAL). 

" Who has not felt how sadly sweet that dream 
of home." 

Oh ! precious word, magic sesame, to which 
every human heart responsive vibrates,— what 
tender memories, what hallowed associations 
come thronging back as I lean once more on 
the time-honored gates, and gaze long and lov- 
ingly on each well-remembered scene ! 

Long, eventful years have passed over my 
head — years filled with joys and sorrows. Since, 
strange voices echoed through the dear old 
rooms, strange feet wandered through the wind- 
ing paths, strange hands gathered the flowers we 
planted, and trained, perhaps less tenderly, the 
graceful vines which clamber in wild profusion 
over the grey stone walls of the old homestead. 



2 6 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

I Stand alone in the leaden grey of twilight, 
with olden memories gathering 'round me; thought 
speeds back through the dim avenue of years, 
deftly weaving a golden chain, Hnked here and 
there with jewels from the past, joys from the 
present, and hopes from the future. Fancy has 
swept with a magic hand the wondrous harp of 
memory, and music, now sadly sweet, now joy- 
ously jubilart, comes floating back o'er time's 
unbridged abyss. A young moon bursts from 
imprisoning clouds, bathing hill and dale in silvery 
sheen, resting as it were in benedictions on the 
gabled roof of my childhood's home ; while stars, 
with glittering lamps hung out, await her majesty's 
behest ; and still I hnger. Is not this my home ? 
This rare old spot, with flowers gay and forests 
dense, where songsters warble sweetest lays, 
where Mississippi's muddy waves unceasing roll, 
that bore my tiny boat like a frail toy on its 
bosom ? Surely I must not leave this modern 



WAYSIDE FI.OWERS. 2'] 

Eden — this sacred spot which I was wont to call 
by the endearing name " home" ? 

Back rolls the chilling waters of stern reality, 
dispeUing the bright, bright dream by words of 
fearful import — // loas^ but now another calls it 
home. Go hence, these flowers bloom no more 
for thee ; these birdlings trill their gayest songs 
for other ears, and the turbulent river goes 
onward, ever onward, bearing other barks as it 
once did yours, chanting as it goes in cadence 
deep a solemn recpiiem. Dear, dear home, part- 
ing from thee is like leaving the tomb of a loved 
one, so sacred are the ties which bind me to 
thee. The unbroken family circle which was 
wont to gather around thy broad hearthstone 
as evening shades drew on, are long since scat- 
tered, widely scattered. Some have gone to 
gladden other homes by the sunlight of their 
presence, others have gone to their eternal home, 
whose builder and maker is God. Neither do 



28 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

they sigh, oh ! transient home, for thy sheltering 
walls and beauties rare, for their heart is filled 
with joy unutterable, and their lips give praise to 
the Lamb ; neither will I mourn o'er futile hopes 
or treasures lost, but never, never will I forget 
thee, much loved home. Thou shalt be tenderly 
cradled in my heart, fondly rocked by memory, 
with a hymn of the past for thy lullaby. 

No stranger's home can ever be 

What thou hast been to me ; 

Though gorgeous in beauty, bright and gay, 

I'll always love thy turrets grey. 

Then fare thee well, my childhood's home, 
Far away from thee must I roam ; 
I'll touch my guitar with reverent hand, 
And sing of thee in thy Western land. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 29 



HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

WRITTEN TO SOME JOURNALISTIC FRIENDS. 

From out the solemn quiet of my snow-clad 
home there cometh to you a New- Year's greet- 
ing. May joy, peace, and love fill your hearts, 
gladden your homes, and brighten the years which 
God may give you. 

As journalists, may every effort of your versatile 
pens be crowr^_ed with perfect success, and your 
journalistic sun shed its genial rays throughout 
the length and breadth of our own bright land. 
For your paper, my first love, may its course be 
long, useful, and triumphant, and the star of its 
destiny never set. 

Over all may the "Great I Am," even the 
meek and lowly Nazarene, shed that ineffable 
3 



30 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

peace which passeth all understanding and mak- 
eth glad the hearts of the children of men. Such 
is the wish which riseth in my heart and to my 
lips as I stand watching the mantle of light which 
the dawn of a new-born year is spreading over a 
sleeping world, and most sincerely I wish you a 
happy, happy New Year. 

Long may you live, and happy be, 
And life be like a summer sea. 
Whereon your bark may gaily ride, 
And sorrow's breakers ne'er betide. 

May life be bright as a summer day. 
Without a cloud to darken its way ; 
Blessings crown you, and all to you dear, 
Is what I wish by a " Happy New Year." 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 3I 



FOR AN ALBUM. 

We'll gather life's roses while we may ; 
Leave tears for the future, — be happy to day ; 
Grow glad 'neath the sun, forgetting the clouds 
Which so often our sunlight with shadows 
enshroud. 

Yes, gratefully gather the roses of Hfe, 
Forgetting the cares with which it is rife ; 
If there must be a winter for you and I, 
Remember that springtime comes by and by. 



3^ WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



WILLIAMSTON, 

PAST AND PRESENT. 

What a grand, perfect day it is. There is a 
Sabbath-like hush on the dear old hills, broken 
now and then by a strain of entrancing melody 
from the throat of some courageous mocking- 
bird, who, anticipating the glories of summer, 
thus gives utterance to its joy. Verily the day 
is a perfect psalm, overflowing with promissive 
beauties and blessings ; so perfect, in fact, that 
we have eschewed the household gods, and are 
here sitting on the steps of the old bridge, where 
rest and quiet hold genial sway. 

From afar comes the musical ring of the smith's 
anvil, and the distant tapping of busy hammers, 
telling that dormant energies no longer latent lie. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. ^^ 

Softly fall the fountain's crystal waters into its 
basin of "granite so grey," overflowing which, it 
wends its way to the bright streamlet beyond, 
and together they wind their way like a silver 
ribbon through brake and fallow. "Though 
men may come and men may go, they go on 
forever." As they flow on thought flows back, 
and we think of the time when WiUiamston was 
an unbroken forest. As that was long before we 
had entered upon hfe's busy stage, its history 
comes back to us through the dim shaded avenues 
of the past, enshrouded with all the halo of ro- 
mance and the glamour of tradition ; but let me 
tell the tale to you as 'twas told to me. 

It was during the year 1845, when the site 
now graced by the pretty village of WiUiamston 
was a dense wood, where squirrels gamboled and 
birds sang undisturbed by even the sight of a 
sportsman in his "Lincoln greSn," that Mr. Allen 
Williams, the proprietor of said woods, and the 



34 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

honored gentleman from whom WilHamston de- 
rives its name, was strolHng through his domain, 
being weary with the heat and the unusual distance 
which he had walked, threw himself down to rest 
on the green sward. Overcome with fatigue he 
fell asleep, and dreamed a very remarkable dream. 
Upon awakening he recounted the dream to a 
little lad who accompanied him. I cannot re- 
member the exact words, but it ran in this wise : 
He dreamed he saw the gigantic trees laid low 
and picturesque cottages rise in their stead ; he 
heard an incessant roar accompanied by clang of 
bells; this he predicted would be the graceful 
monument of steam sweeping its dizzy train 
through the prospective town, converting the 
wilderness into a busy commercial mart. But 
most wonderful of all, in his dream he saw a 
sparkHng spring, which, from its great medicinal 
properties, would be as the balm of Gilead for 
the healing of many nations. Having finished 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 35 

relating his dream, he looked around for water 
wherewith to quench his thirst, and beheld at but 
a short distance a tiny pool. He stooped to drink, 
and lo ! was found the " Mineral Spring." Some 
months after this Mr. Williams had the water 
analyzed, and it was found to contain valuable 
medicinal qualities. The present park was then 
enclosed, the spring crowned with a neat granite 
basin, and donated as a gift to the village which 
was still in prospective. 

Mr. Williams was generous to a fault, and many 
were the recipients of his lavish bounty. He 
likewise presented lots to the Baptist, Presby- 
terian, and Methodist denominations, whereon 
our churches now stand, commemorative monu- 
ments of his generosity. 'Tis a happy thought 
to know the good man lived to see the realiza- 
tion of his wonderful dream. The little village 
rose in all its rural beauty, the shrill whistle of 
the incoming train broke the solemn stillness of 



36 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

shadowy eve, and strangers flocked to the won- 
drous spring. Long ago the dreamer has passed 
away ; but so long as flows the crystal water of 
the spring he discovered, so long will his name 
be reverentially remembered, '■''Requiescat in 
pacer 

We would that we could enhance the attrac- 
tions of our "Auburn." We all admit that the 
summers are the brightest bits of coloring in the 
year's landscape. They bring us old friends and 
new acquaintances, and sometimes " Prince 
Charming" comes to town. Really the summer 
season is quite as much of an event to us (though 
of a more pleasing character) as the " English 
ships" were to the quiet farmer of* " Grand 
Pre." 

Our park is always pleasant, just the place to 
read and enjoy " David Copperfield," whose chief 
charm to me is that grand, majestic character, 
" Mr. Peggotty." Have we not all seen just such 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 37 

true nobility ; true, 'tis found in devious paths, 
sometimes in the humblest garb, gracing with its 
grand simplicity the lowest walks of Hfe ; again 
'tis found in the pulpit, at the bar, 'neath kingly 
crown and ducal coronet ; but wherever 'tis found, 
with bowed head we acknowledge its presence, 
as we say with reverent lips, by the hand of 
nature and the grace of God a gentleman. Then 
in the glad springtime, when the air is tremulous 
with song of birds and drowsy hum of subtle 
insect minstrelsy, we love to read the musical 
strains of the " Poet Laureate," and the heart- 
touching melodies of our beloved American bard, 
'' Longfellow." 

Yes, every tree in this old park has for us 
some tender association, every rustic bench its 
story. We love it at all times, but more especially 
in the early grey of dawn, when the earth is 
sandaled with dew, or "when the day is done, 
and the steeping sun upgathers his spent shafts 



38 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

and puts them back into his golden quiver," as 
twilight's purple shadows slowly gather. 

When after noon the setting sun, 

With banners of gold illumine the West : 

When all the glories of day are done, 
And stars illumine night's sable crest. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 39 



ONE YEAR AGO. 

A tribute of love, consecrated to the sainted memory of 
a darling niece, Rosa Bell Bigby, whose brief life faded 
just as the dawn of a new day was struggling into existence. 

One year ago, just one to-night, 
Since to God our darling we gave ; 

And roses scatter their leaves so white, 
Over Rosa Bell's little grave. 

How dark the homestead seems to me ; 

How I miss the baby so bright, 
With dimpled cheeks and heart of glee, 

And eyes of lambent light. 

With golden rings of sunny hair 
Crowning the baby head. 



40 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Straying over the brow so fair, 
Can it be that she is dead ? 

Dead ! ah, tears of sorrow tell, 
As they fall at thought of the day. 

And a shadow o'er the homestead fell, 
When the angels took Rosa away. 

One year ago to-night, just one, 
Since baby fell gently to sleep ; 

We bow 'neath the rod : God's will be done, 
In His arms our darUng He'll keep. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 4 1 



A LEAFLET. 

The last rays of a lingering sunset have faded 
in the west, and darkness gathers slowly around ; 
a young moon speeds in her triumphal car o'er 
heaven's bright landscape, with myriads of glitter- 
ing stars attendant in her train. The notes of a 
solitary bird is heard from a neighboring forest, 
breaking the solemn stillness of the night with its 
wild song, while over the distant hills cometh the 
low wailing of autumnal winds, sighing with pro- 
phetic sadness, Summer is fading, fading, with 
all her glorious beauty, her happy associations, 
her joys and sorrows, her loves and friendships, 
her Hghts and shadows. All must pass with thee, 



42 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

bright, beautiful summer, across the dark river of 
time. 

Where summer fades and flowerets die, 
While nature weeps and angels sigh. 

And autumn sings thy requiem, soft and low as 
sound of golden harpsichord swept by angelic 
hands. I pause to think how many of us have 
done aught during this happy regal summer to 
advance the glory of our Father's kingdom ; how- 
many of us have spoken words of love and com- 
fort to crushed and grief-stricken hearts; how 
many of us have entered lowly homes and read 
to aged servants of God His precious promises • 
how many of us have dispelled one dark cloud of 
sorrow, or made for any one ray of sunshine. 
Ah ! how many indeed have obeyed the divine 
edict, " Bear ye one another's burden, and so ful- 
fil the law of Christ." 

May this bright, beautiful, fleeting summer, 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 43 



typical in its evanescent loveliness of life's brief 
span, be to us a faithful monitor, and though 
pleasures dazzle and syrens sing, may we turn 
firmly away, and live 

' ' Nearer, my God, to thee, 
Nearer to thee." 

Then, when the short summer of life is ended, 
may we all stand within the pearly gates of the 
Celestial City, where the glorious summer of 
eternity reigns ; 

Where flowerets neither fade nor die, 
Nor nature weep, nor angels sigh ; 
No clouds, no storms, no long, dark night, 
For Jesus reigns, the King, the Light, 



44 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



ONLY A PRAYER. 

Only a prayer from childish Hps, 
Yet the prayer was uttered for me ; 

Breaking the stilhiess of twihght deep, 
'Twill a precious remembrance be. 

The bended knee, the low bowed head, 
The half closed eyes of deepest blue ; 

And angels heard the prayer that was said, 
By those ruby lips from that heart so true. 

Little he knew of the doubts and fears 
His loving prayer might help to avert ; 

I cannot refrain from dropping a tear 
When my thoughts to that prayer revert. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 45 

With all a child's pure, holy love, 

With a faith so beautiful to see, 
That prayer went up to the throne above, 

That child's pure prayer for me. 

Bless mamma, papa, sisters three. 

And baby brother so bright ; 
Bless everybody, and then bless me ; 

But bless, bless Maggie to-night. 

The weary hands dropped softly down, 

The child was fast asleep ; 
Night reigns, the stillness is profound, 

And angels their vigils keep. 



46 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



A LEAF FROM THE GALLERY OF 
MEMORY. 

The golden glory of an October sunset lingers 
lovingly o'er the distant hill tops, pierces with its 
glittering shafts the placid bosom of the little 
streamlet beyond, dotted with the early fallen 
leaves, and rests as if in benediction on the 
stately spire of yon little church — Kenneth's 
church ; so I always called it, for he preached his 
first, aye, and last sermon there, in that little ivy 
crowned church. What a flood-tide of memories 
sweep over my heart as I sit and watch the golden 
glories of this gorgeous sunset make lights on the 
hill tops and shadows in the valley ! Kenneth's 
church is in the valley, and except the Httle halo 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 47 

which rests on the spire, the church, Hke unto 
his young Hfe, is wrapped in shadow. Brave, 
handsome Kenneth. We were boys together, 
Kenneth and I ; together we left the white chffs 
of Albion; together we explored the snow-clad 
regions of our Canadian home. Students to- 
gether, graduated together, and together turned 
our faces southward to preach the glad tidings, — 
strangers in a strange land. Friends from boy- 
hood, circumstances drew the bonds still closer, 
till our love for each other was Hke unto that of 
David and Jonathan. 

I seem to see him to-night just as he used to 
stand in our little room, leaning in his own care- 
less grace against the mantle, one arm resting 
thereon, looking out into the distance with that 
far off, wistful expression in his wondrous eyes. 
Then sweeping back the dark curling hair from 
his broad, white brow, he would lay that deHcate, 
womanly ha,nd of his on my shoulder, in his gentle, 



48 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

caressing way, and say, " We will strive, Bob, to 
make ourselves worthy of this our great life work." 
Ah, Kenneth ! I always knew you were a great 
man, and yet, looking back through the lapse of 
years, with the matured judgment which years 
have brought me, I see you were far greater than 
your loving, trusting friend ever dreamed. A 
man endowed with rare beauty and still rarer 
genius, with a heart worthy of both, was my friend 
Kenneth Forbes ; but born of a consumptive 
family, he was possessed of an inherent delicacy 
which little fitted him to stem the rough current 
of life. 

How often when sermonizing I would rack 
my brain for an idea, while his pen would glide 
rapidly on, scattering golden-linked pearls of 
thought with as much ease and rapidity as a 
flower dispels its gems of dew. And this man of 
rare genius, added to his unequalled personal 
attractions, with a heart as noble and pure as 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 49 

one of God's angels, loved a fair, fickle woman, 
who counted her conquests as a savage warrior 
does his scalps. How I strove by every art to 
weaken the syren's chain, but all in vain. Once, 
just once, I dared to remonstrate with him. 
Strong in all else, he was a child in this ; not 
one doubt of her love could I make him believe ; 
loyal as a king himself, he believed her to be a 
true fulfilment of pure, beautiful womanhood, 
which, when a woman does fulfil, she could ask 
of God no higher destiny ; but when she stoops 
to trifle with the aftection of man, made in the 
image of his Creator, to such we think even God 
Himself can scarce be pitiful. 

Poor Kenneth ! his infatuation was complete. 
Every laurel, and they were many, won by his 
rare genius, was laid at her feet, and the shrine 
you see was unworthy the offering. " Bob," he 
would say, with that winning smile lighting up his 
handsome face, " she is my Alpine rose, which I 



50 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

have scaled the giddy glaciers to cull, and I wear 
it as my proudest laurel." 

But the end soon came. 'Twas a fair June 
night, and a young moon's tender light hung its 
silver mist o'er earth and sea. I had gone down 
to the shore to watch the tide go out, and hear, 
like little " Paul," what the wild waves were say- 
ing. Thought sped far o'er the dim waters to my 
Canadian home, to the little boat which lay 
anchored by the margin of the silver lake, and I 
was sighing for the Lakeland far away. A step 
drew near ; 'twas Kenneth. A moment more 
and the hand came down on my shoulder in its 
old caressing way ; I knew he was in trouble, for 
that was always his way. 

" What is it, Kenneth ?" 

"My dream is over, Bob; my Alpme rose is 
dead." 

And then I knew the end had come ; she had 
been amused sufficiently, and my poor friend had 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 5I 

been the toy of which when tired she had thrown 
aside, with the same heartlessness as she would 
have discarded a faded flower. 

From that fair June night we never aUuded to 
the bitter subject. We studied and worked to- 
gether, but the joyous Hght never came back to 
the handsome face of my friend. The exposure 
to which we were subjected, the heavy blow which 
had been dealt him by a hand so well loved, were 
telling on the delicate frame, and I who knew 
him so well saw that the hour of i^arting would 
soon come. 

More than a year sped by, and October with 
its sighing winds and falling leaves had come. 
The Sabbath dawned grandly beautiful, and the 
silvery chimes of Sabbath bells broke the solemn 
stillness as Kenneth and I walked down the 
rugged hillside to yon same little church, and 
entered for the last time its well-remembered 
pulpit. 



52 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

A large and reverent congregation gathered, 
for the hearts of the people turned to their be- 
loved preacher Hke flowers to the sun. Kenneth 
was more like the Kenneth of old, and as he rose 
to preach, grasped my hand and whispered, 
" Bob, pray for me." An answering pressure of 
the hand, and he rose and read in his own 
musical voice the solemn text, " We all do fade 
as a leaf." 

Never, never can I forget that sermon. Ken- 
neth was always eloquent, but to day 'twas as if 
his heart had been touched with the fire of in- 
spiration. Earth seemed afar, and heaven so 
very near, that angels seemed to stoop and say, 
^'' Benedicitcr 

When we neared home I observed an unusual 
pallor on his face. 

''Sick, Kenneth ?" 

"No, Bob; only tired." 

And so the day passed on. Kenneth, in an- 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 53 

swer to all inquiries, would only say " so tired." 
Near sunset he called me. 

" Put your arms around me, Bob, just as you 
used to do in the old boyish days." 

With what unspeakable tenderness I folded 
my arms around him, and pressed the dear head 
to my breast, with a heart too full for utterance. 

" Dear, true Bob ; brave heart, which ever 
beat in love for me." 

" Don't, Kenneth ; we are all the world to 
each other; don't, don't leave me;" and the 
tears which I had so long struggled to keep back 
would fall despite me. 

" Hush, Bob, you must not grieve for me ; 
death is the fair, sweet summer morning for which 
I have long sighed ; and you must go on. Bob, 
with my work and yours till the Master says up 
higher. Now pet me, Bob, just as you would a 
tired child." 

And as I softly stroked the dark, curling hair, 



54 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



the old light came back to the beaiititul eyes, the 
old winning smile hovered on the handsome 
mouth, and Kenneth went home, bearing golden 
sheaves to lay down at the Saviour's feet. 

Just beyond that quiet city of the dead a marble 
shaft bears the inscription, " Kenneth Forbes, 
Devon, England, aged 21." 

The sunset has faded, every golden gleam has 
vanished, while the hill tops and valley, the silver 
streamlet, the marble shaft, me, and tlie little 
church, all are wrapped in shadows. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 55 



A TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM. 



To Governor Hampton, whose name has been on our 
lips and in our prayers since the opening of the campaign, 
this tribute is respectfully dedicated, by a daughter of the 
realm. 



Bards of Carolina, thy harps awake, 

Of chivalrous Hampton sing ; 
He comes to guide the ship of state, 

And into harbour bring. 

Safely he'll pilot her over the sea, 

Where long she has tossed in waters deep ; 
Her guide and compass, her day star he'll be. 

And sacred vigilance over her keep. 

Tyranny's dark days of sorrow are past, 
The dawn of redemption breaks ; 



56 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Democracy reigns triumphant at last, 
And Hampton will govern the State. 

Then loud let the joy-bells of victory ring, 
While Hampton as Governor we greet ; 

Tributes of love let every heart bring, 
And lay at his Excellency's feet. 

Long mayest thou live to rule our land. 

And happy mayest thou be, 
Till at God's call thou leavest the strand. 

To cross the jasper sea. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 57 



ALBUM SELECTIONS. 

Gentle, lovely, winsome friend, 
I happy greeting to thee send ; 
And with the greeting softly blend 

This little prayer : 
May'st thou be happy all thy days, 
Love's sunlight chase all clouds away, 
For this, and more, does gently pray 

Your absent friend. 



May richest blessings from above 
Crown your pathway, friend so dear. 

And life be one long dream of love, 
Undimmed by shadow, sigh, or tear. 



58 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



ONLY PANSIES. 

Only pansies, with golden hearts, 
Pierced by sunHght's ghttering darts ; 
Only pansies, with purple tips, 
Beautiful pansies, with dew-kissed lips. 

Tenderly we kneel at their lovely bed, 
In adoration bending the head, 
As we gather their blossoms sweet and fair, 
To wilt in the massive waves of our hair. 

Precious pansies, heralds of spring, 

A wealth of fragrance you ever bring ; 

I'll nestle a few in this tie of lace. 

Just here, sweet pansies, close to my face. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 59 

Only pansies, but sweeter to me 
Than rarest tropical flowers could be ; 
Let us gather the pansies while we may, 
As they gild with beauty life's rugged way. 



6o WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



CARRIER'S ADDRESS. 

A CARRIER-BOY with happy face, 
I make my bow with boyish grace ; 
My heart with joy is gaily beating 
As I extend this Christmas greeting. 

"Barkis is wiUin','' but what to say 
I scarcely know ; so, friends, I pray 
Your clemency for this one time, 
Lest I fail in sense and rhyme. 

Twelve long months have rolled away ; 
Some they have saddened, some made gay ; 
Graves have been made in dear hallowed spots, 
Where loved hands plant forget-me-nots ; 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 6 1 

Some have gone forth from their childhood's home, 

To gladden with lovehght a home of their own ; 

Some have gone forth to win and to wear 

A chaplet of laurels on their brow so fair ; 

And some have gone home to dwell above, 

In that fair paradise of love. 

I still go my humble way along, 

And sing the carrier's annual song : 

'Tis simple I know, dear readers, and yet 

The song nor the singer would I have you forget. 



Time's circling hours cease not to roll 
Through summer's heat or winter's cold 
And twelve months on her magic chart 
Have changes made in this same mart. 
Stilled have been many pattering feet, 
Beneath death's solemn winding sheet, 
And little stockings are folded away, 
No more to be filled on Christmas day. 
5 



62 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Yet why so sad my simple rliyme? — 
I scarcely know, save just some time 
The heart remembers all that's sad, 
And yet remembers all that's glad ; 
For every life must have its sorrow, 
As every day lias a to-morrow. 



Long years ago, on this eventful day, 
A babe in Bethlehem's manger lay, 
While wise men brought their trophies meet, 
And knelt at the new-born Saviour's feet. 
Since then, on this glad, happy day. 
Saints and sinners meet to pray. 
While church-bells ring their joyous chime. 
Telling the world 'tis Christmas time ; 
When moonlight shadows softly creep 
Through silent grove and quiet street-. 
When darkness with the daylight blends, 
And homeward every footstep tends ; 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 63 

Then festive lights begin to burn, 
And stars send out their Hght in turn ; 
Joy's tidal wave spreads far and wide, — 
May all God's creatures feel the tide. 



May all be happy on this glad day, 
The carrier-boy does softly pray ; 
And the motto which we keep in sight — 
Be " Trust in God, and do the right." 



Again I hear the glorious chime, 
Telling the world 'tis Christmas time ; 
And the olden story comes back again 
As I think of the far-off Judean plain — 
Of the wise men travelling from afar, 
Guided by Bethlehem's glorious star, 
Till with joy ecstatic their Lord they greet, 
And worship at His and Mary's feet. 



64 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

For patience kind I now thank you, 
And gracefully bid you all adieu ; 
Go, make some heart glad on this dear day. 
And don't forget the carrier's lay. 

Like " Tiny Tim," my task is done, — 
Like him I'll say, " God bless each one." 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 65 



A FRAGMENT. 

Written on seeing a classmate suddenly stricken down 
while in the full flush of girlish beauty and loveliness. 

Can this be death ? — this placid brow, 
This heavenly smile upon the face ; 

Has soul from body parted now, 
And does it leave no fearful trace ? 

Aye, this is death ; — so cold, so still, — 
These folded hands, this pulseless breast, 

This solemn hush, this fearful chill 
Tells us the loved one is at rest. 

Sad hearts, break not; cease thy weeping ; 

She has only gone before, 
And will meet you at the turning. 

As you near the golden shore. 



66 WAYSIDE FLOWERS, 



LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 

Wreathe with the beautiful roses of love 
Every cross which darkens life's way ; 

Be tender and true as the angels above, 
Who dwell in endless day. 

Then, in the Lamb's great Book of Life, 

Bright shall thy record be, 
When, done with earthly cares and strife, 

You cross the jasper sea. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 67 



FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING. 

I've gathered these flowers, my friend, for you 
They are ghttering with early morning dew; 
And though their beauty will fade away, 
Keep them in memory of this day. 

There are roses sweet, and Heliotrope, too, 
Jessamines white, and Violets blue; 
Lovely Geraniums, and Fuschias white, 
Ghttering in beauty hke stars of the night. 

They come expressing my joy to meet, 
And with extended hand to greet 
One whose friendship, Hke a beacon star, 
Ever gleams brightly, though it's home is afar. 



68 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Friends we have ever been, I and you, 
" Weighed in the balance" and found true ; 
Friends in the sunHght of joy's dazzHng hght, 
Friends still truer in sorrow's dark night. 

Friends may we ever be, true and tried, 
And anchor at last on the other side. 
Where angels sweep their harps and sing, 
Glory to the new born King. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 69 



RETROSPECTION. 

I STAND on the shore of the present ; 

I look to the shore of the past ; 
Earth's joys are all evanescent — 

Bright, beautiful, but cannot last. 

To our earthly idols we fondly cling, 
Yet we know they are but clay ; 

To earthly shrines our offerings bring, 
Though we must fade, and they. 

The brightest hope, the fairest flower, 
Blooms brightly but to die ; 

Ambition, fame, wealth, and power 
Pass away like a zephyr's sigh. 



70 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Then own no shrine save Jesus' cross ; 

There all thy offerings bring ; 
Refine thy soul from every dross, 

Own Him thy sovereign King. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 7^ 



A FRAGMENT. 

And must I say good-bye ! oh, cruel fates ! 
And yet I know for me there waits 

A gentle mother. 
The days to me so short and bright, 
Illumined by love's own dazzling light, 

To her are sad and lonely. 

The flowers droop, they fade and die ; 
My love and care, for it they sigh, 

And I must homeward, 
To gently raise their drooping crests, 
And cheer the heart that loves me best, 

Above all others. 



72 



WAYSIDE FI-OWERS. 



Oil, worthy theme for poet's pen, 
Oh, wondrous gift of God to men, 
A mother's love. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 73 



LINES ON A WHITE ROSE. 

Oh ! my beautiful rose so white — 

My peerless virgin queen, — 
Through autumn's clouds a rift of light, 
• Thy royal beauty is seen. 

Thy grateful fragrance cheers my heart, 
And smiles to my lips does it bring,— 

Bids all shadows, all cares depart, 
While joy bells sweetly ring. 

Oh ! precious rose of snowy white, 
For me wilt thou ever bloom, 

Till I sleep at last 'neath daisies bright, 
Then scatter thy leaves o'er my tomb. 



74 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



"IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE." 

In my Father's house, just over the way, 
No twihght shadows the glories dim ; 

'Tis always beautiful golden day 

For those who dwell therein with Him. 

In my Father's house, oh ! happy thought, 
A place is prepared for you and me ; 

His precious blood our ransom bought ; — 
Sinner, He died for me and thee. 

Then come to Jesus while you may ; 

He will your Joving Father be ; 
Hear Him softly, sweetly say, 

" World-worn pilgrim, come to Me." 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 75 

Many mansions, He says, are there, 

And when our earth tasks here are done, 

To that paradise divinely fair 

The Father bids His children come ; — 

Just beyond, where streets all golden 

Await the weary feet ; 
Where the angels' glad hallelujahs 

Way-worn pilgrims greet. 



76 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



NO NIGHT IN HEAVEN. 

• 
No NIGHT in heaven ! oh, blessed thought, 
With countless precious memories fraught ! 
There everlasting day will shine, 
And Jesus reign the King divine. 

No night in heaven, — no weary sigh, — 
All sorrows cease, all tears are dry ; 
Pain, care and toil have passed away ; 
In heaven above 'tis endless day. 

No night in heaven, no long dark night; 
Even there the bHnd receive their sight. 
O Paradise, what tongue can tell 
The bhss, the joy, in thee to dwell ! 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 77 

No night in heaven, no night of gloom ; 
No mourner sad, no silent tomb ; 
But starry crowns of radiant gems, 
E'en immortality's proud diadems. 

Ah ! there our loved ones we will meet. 
And walk the glittering, golden street ; 
While Jesus reigns the King, the Light, 
In heaven, thank God, there is no night. 



78 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



FORSAKE THE WORLD AND FOLLOW 
ME." 

'Tis the Father speaks, — mortal, obey ; 
Heed the warning while you may ; 
Hear and obey that Father's plea, — 
" Forsake the world and follow. Me." 

Forsake the world, — oh ! will you not ? 
And with Christ's people cast your lot ; 
Jesus says, " Come, My children be ; 
Forsake the world and follow Me." 

For you He gave His only Son ; 
For you He said, "Thy will be done;" 
And in return He asks of thee, — 
" Forsake the world and follow Me." 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



79 



Harps are swept by angel hands, 
The anthem chanted by seraphic bands ; 
Turn from sin, — to Jesus flee, — 
" Forsake the world and follow Me." 



8o WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



A LEAF FROM THE GALLERY OF 
MEMORY. 

Night, in all her solemn loveliness, 

O'er my heart a shadow cast ; 
Brings before me, oh ! how vividly, 

Olden memories of the past. 

Almost eleven years to-night since the sword of 
war slept in its scabbard, and green grows tlie turf 
o'er tlie graves of our fallen heroes. Eleven years ! 
liow time speeds on in its relentless flight ! How 
many changes have occurred in those few, brief, 
fleeting years? — how many vacant chairs have 
they made at our fuesides ? — how many shadows 
have they cast around our hearthstones? — and 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 8 1 

how many veterans have they left of that noble 
band, the gallant and faithful, tried and true. 
Thirteenth Regiment, South Carolina Volun- 
teers ? Far be it from me to speak disparagingly 
of any individual or command who raUied 'neath 
the banner of our sunbright land ; for my heart 
warms to the so called rebels, and my hand is 
extended in cordial friendship; but pen is in- 
adequate to express the exalted admiration, the 
reverential love, I have for the old Thirteenth. 
It was in its glorious service that an only, idolized 
brother fought and fell ; its honor was the pride 
of his heart, its praise his theme in Hfe, its victory 
his cry in death ; and through the solemn hush 
of night these slumbering memories come throng- 
ing back, clustering with sad and happy associa- 
tions of the long ago ; and it almost seems as if 

"Time, indeed, had turned back in its flight, 
And that I am a child again, just for to-night,"— 

The veritable child which a few years ago sat 



82 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

on the knee of the brave and lamented Col. 
Edwards, in the old Newberry depot, listening 
with childish eagerness as he told wondrous 
stories of his " boys in grey," whose prowess 
he said was equalled by none. And when I, 
unable to conceal my child heart's yearning to 
see the face of that loved brother, who was far 
away on tented field, would shed bitter tears of 
disappointment, he would brush them gently 
away, caress my brown head softly, and tell me 
in his own tender way of the " God of battles," 
who watched over the soldier in the distant camp, 
and ''kept guard when the army was sleeping," 
and would ever be their " shield and buckler, 
their stay and refuge," in fiercest storm of shot 
and shell. 

Eleven years ! and Willie and his brave Colonel 
sleep their dreamless sleep ; the Colonel is laid 
to rest in his native church-yard, 'mid the graves 
of his kindred, while WiUie's golden head is 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. S^ 

pillowed far away on hostile soil, where no loved 
hand may plant floweret sweet or drop a precious 
tear. But it matters not, 

They have crossed the river and stand on the shore, 
Waiting to v^^elcome their comrades o'er. 

May the gallant Thirteenth, at that last great 
day, stand with unbroken ranks, and the golden 
gates be opened wide as they pass through under 
the glorious banner of eternal love, owning the 
great "I Am" their loyal Leader, Sovereign, 
King. 

While angels sweep their harps and sing, 
Glory to the eternal King ; 
And voices join, ten thousand ten, 
Peace on earth, good will toward men. 



84 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



THE COUNTY MONUMENT. 

'Tis a simple heart offering, tenderly, reverently dedi- 
cated to the memory of our sainted dead, and the surviving 
veterans of " The loved Lost Cause." 

A GRATEFUL pcoplc, wc comc to-day 
This last sad rite to sadly pay 

Our loved and lost ; 
And on that shaft inscribed we see 
The names so dear to thee and me 

Of those who died. 

Oh, stately shaft of marble white, 
Fit emblem of that honor bright 
Thou dost commemorate; 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 85 

The honor of our stainless dead, 
O'er whose graves wild flowers shed 
Their fragrance sweet. 

By woman's work this shaft was reared, 
And consecrated by her tears — 

Oh, laurels rare ! 
Fit tribute for a soldier's tomb — 
A star to gild the deepest gloom. 

To gild e'en this fair shrine. 

Oh ! memory bells, how sad ye ring. 
As back so vividly ye bring 

The bitter past ! 
While hearts, grown old with care. 
Sadly turn to the vacant chair 

Of him who ne'er came back. 

Never came back, says the whispering breeze ; 
Never came back, say the falling leaves ; 
Never came back ; 



86 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

But we turn with pride to their stainless crest, 
And softly murmur, God knew best 
The way for us and them. 

Green be the memory of our soldiers brave, 
Sleeping far off in honored grav^ 

Their dreamless sleep ; 
They have crossed the river 'and stand on the 

shore, 
Waiting to welcome their comrades o'er 

To paradise and God. 

And that time nor tide may not efface. 
Upon this shaft with love we trace 

Their names and where they fell ; 
Their banners are furled, their swords are 

sheathed, 
But their names with deathless fame are wreathed, 

Our own illustrious dead. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 87 



THE GOLDEN LOCKET. 

'TwAS only a locket of rare old gold, 

Chased so quaii^tly queer ; 
But it gleamed on the throat of a maiden fair, 
With soul-lit eyes and curling hair, 

And form of peerless grace. 

To her it was a priceless gem, 

Her talisman of light ; 
For, concealed within its golden case, 
A proud and handsome manly face 

For four long years had been. 

As she stood alone in her beauty bright, 

And kissed with ruby lips 
That handsome face, with its genius rare, 
She dropped a tear and breathed a prayer 

For a star which had suddenly set. 



88 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Then softly she loosed the ribbon blue 

Which held her treasure dear, 
And passionately pressed it to her breast, 
Then tenderly laid it away to rest, 
Till graves give up their dead. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 89 



THEY ARE WAITING. 

They are waiting, father, waiting, 

Over on the golden shore ; 
There to welcome, there to welcome 

Thee with joy forevermore. 

Dimpled hands to thee are reaching, 
Through the gates of gleaming pearl, 

Ruby Hps, a sermon preaching, — 
Father's angel boy and girl. 

They are telling, sweetly telling, 
Of the Saviour's matchless love ; 

In glory they with Him are dwelling, 
In that priceless home above. 



90 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

We are coming, darlings, coming, 
When our life tasks here are o'er, 

Meet us, loved ones, at the turning, 
As we reach the golden shore. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 9T 



A FRAGMENT. 

'TwAS only a coin of antique make, 
Given a token for friendship's sake, 

To ever keep ; 
To keep in memory of that day, 
When two friends parted, each their way 

In Ufe to wend. 

Each had their mission there to fill, — 
To nobly do their Master's will. 

In every field ; 
Whether He bid them toil or bide, 
In noonday heat or eventide. 

As He should will 



92 WAYSIDE 1-XOWERS, 

Our life is made of link on link, 
Unbroken till we near the brink 

Of the river deep ; 
Iwon then docs fricndshij) take our luind, 
Safe leads us to the border land, 

And for us weep. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS, 93 



THE PRAYER OF THE STATE. 

Commemorative of the 26th of October, and is respectfully 
dedicated to the Democratic Clubs of South Carolina. 

Hush ! 'tis the solemn sound of a bell, 

Calling all people to pray, 
For the welcome sound of tyranny's knell, 

And the dawn of Hberty's day. 

Be still ! while the prayer of a down-trodden state 

Is ascending to God on high ; 
For deliverance from her cruel fate, 

For redemption hear her cry. 

She pleads high heaven her chains to break, 
Her exiles home to bring ; 
7 



94 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

*? 

Her sons to guide the sliip of state, 
Wliile freedom's anthems ring. 

This sunny land is ours by right, 

From its swamps to its mountains bhie ; 

And that right must triumph over might, 
The oppressor will surely find true. 

From star-jeweled heaven the angels bend, 

To hear Carolina's plea : 
May victory's shouts the air soon rend, 

And Carolina at last be free. 

Father, our hearts go up as one 
In prayer for our mother state ; 

Oh ! grant that her trials are almost done. 
We plead for Jesus sake. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 95 



A FRAGMENT. 

Far over the hills there cometh to me, 
A warbling sound, like the sound of the sea ; 
'Tis music dear to this heart of mine ; 
'Tis the low sad song of the stately pine. 

When the beauteous dawn of spring time breaks, 
When a sleeping world once more awakes, 
Thy music so low, Hke a maiden's sigh. 
Will come wafted on perfumed zephyrs by. 

In the solemn hush of twilight's hour, 
'Tis then I feel thy magic power. 
Standing alone 'mid the forest dim. 
Dreaming of all the bright laurels I'll win. 



<)6 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Fame to a woman is worthless leaves ; — 
All the laurels I ask are these : 
In the hearts of those I love a place, 
Which time nor tide cannot efface. 

And oh ! may affection's holy gleam 
Brighten my life with its heavenly sheen ; 
These are the laurels I pray may be mine, 
As I list to thy plaintive song, O pine. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



97 



SPRING. 

When will earth in beauty wake, 
And winter's ice-bound barriers break ? 
When flowers bloom and birdlings sing, 
To gentle, winsome, cheery spring. 

I see her footprints on the hills, 
I hear her voice in murmuring rills ; 
Soon o'er the earth she'll graceful fling 
The royal garb of lovely spring. 

Then flowers will raise their drooping heads, 
Flowers that we have long deemed dead, 
To gladden the world with beauty bright, 
After the winter's long, dark night. 



98 WAYSIDE FLOWERS 



BABY'S PRAYER. 

Lowly bowed the golden head, 
Reverently bent the dimpled knee, 

And the sweet lips softly said, 
" Gentle Jesus, pity me." 

Pity thee ! oh, sinless child, 

Kneeling in thy robes so white ! 

Yes, a Saviour meek and mild 
Hears the baby's prayer to-night. 

And bright spirits He will send — . 

Guardian angels they will be ; 
Jesus is the children's Friend, 

He will love and pity thee. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 99 

How oft through Hfe's long, chequered way, 
When tossing o'er hfe's troubled sea, 

World-worn pilgrims sadly say, 
"Gentle Jesus, pity me." 

When from His fold we chance to stray. 

Of His commands forgetful be, 
Let us, like baby, softly pray, 

" Gentle Jesus, pity me." 



lOO WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 



LINES ON A SUNSET,^ 

There are clouds of amber and gold in the west, 

Beautiful clouds are they, 
Where the sun has been softly cradled to rest, 

At the close of a golden day. 

Yet see — they fade, those gorgeous clouds, 

Into a leaden grey, 
As evening, with her sombre shroud, 

Veils the face of day. 

Now soft winds sweep the zephyr's harp ; 

One glittering star I see, 
As nightfall wraps its shadows dark 

Around the world and me. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. lOI 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

I've been gathering ferns on the hill side, 

Ferns of the loveliest green ; 
They grow deep down in the shadow, 

The clefts of rocks between. 

I mused, as I gathered the treasures, 
Of one who had long been dead, 

And fancied I heard the leaves rustle 
'Neath the weight of his manly tread. 

He had taught me to cHmb grey hill tops, 
To list the thunder's fierce roar. 

To skim in a boat o'er the water. 
My laugh keeping time with his oar. 



I02 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Then we gathered ferns from the hill side, 

In rear of the dear old home ; 
But far, far away he lies sleeping, 

And the ferns I gather alone. 

But their delicate fronds, as I press them, 
Each whisper this sermon to me : 

Wait thou in patience and meekness ; 
Thy peerless brother thou'lt see. 

Just beyond, where are streets all golden, 

Awaiting the weary feet, 
Where the angels' glad hallelujahs 

Way-worn pilgrims greet. 

These thoughts come to me in the gloaming 
When the harp of memory plays, 

Like "Allan Bane," prophetic bard, 
Sweet songs of by-gone days. 



WAYSIDE FI>OWERS. I03 



A TRIBUTE OF LOVE. 

Consecrated to the sainted memory of Eulalie Gren- 

EKER, a precious rosebud, early culled for the 

Lord of Paradise. 

One more little baby bark 

Has crossed the river deep ; 
Its waters were very cold and dark 

For the Httle dimpled feet. 

Through the long day and silent night 
You will miss those pattering feet ; 

But Eulalie shines a star of light, 
For the Master's crown made meet. 

'Tis a beauteous bud, the Master said ; 
Go, gather it, angels, for Me. 



I04 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

They answered, 'Tis already dead 
We bring it, Lord, to Thee. 

And Jesus stood on the golden strand, 
And bade the baby come ; 

So we meekly kissed the folded hands, 
And said, " God's will be done." 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. I05 



ROSABEL. 

Like a lily rudely brushed, 
iJke a hare-bell early crushed, 
Lay in death's deep, awful hush. 
Darling Rosabel 

Through the river, dark and deep, 
Went the dimpled baby feet ; 
But the Saviour came to meet 
Angel Rosabel. 

Wintry winds did sadly sigh ; 
Hearts were breaking ; God drew nigh ; 
For He heard that bitter cry, — 
"Rosabel! Rosabel!" 



Io6 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Winter's snows fall soft and white 
O'er a little grave to-night, 
Where sleeps the beauteous baby bright, 
Rosabel, Rosabel. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. I07 



MUSINGS. 

I'm thinking, as I watch the stars gleam out, 
Like jewels on the bosom of night, 

Am thinking, and thinking, — am lost in doubt, 
Will our record be dark or bright ? 

Who of us, I wonder, has gatherd a gem. 
That will one day shine in a crown ; 

Or shall we, like the virgins ten, 
Not all be gathered 'round ? 

To our earthly idols how fondly we cling, 
Yet we know that they are but clay ! 

To earthly shrines our offerings bring, 
Though we must fade and they. 



Io8 WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

The brightest hope, the fairest flower, 

Blooms brightly but to die ; 
Ambition, fame, and wealth and power, " 

Pass away like a zephyr's sigh. 

Then strive to brighten the hearts and homes 
Which God in His goodness has given ; 

Hallow with love the sacred hearthstone, 
Dearer than all, save heaven. 

Wreath with the beautiful roses of love 
Every cross which darkens hfe's way ; 

Be tender and true, as the angels above, 
Who dwell in endless day. 

Then in the Lamb's great book of life 

Bright shall our record be. 
When, done with earthly toil and strife, 

We cross^the jasper sea. 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. IO9 



THE LAST SONG. 

'Twas the last night before the momentous battle of 
Gettysburg, the last night in June, that glorious month of 
roses ; but far beyond the perfume of her flower-laden 
breezes slept Lee's grand army. 

The moon, in her solemn beauty bright, 
Looked down on the tented field; 

Glittering cold 'neath her lambent light, 
Shone swords of burnished steel. 



Sentinels paced their weary round, 
Their comrades wrapped in sleep ; 

Night reigned ; the stillness was profound, 
While stars their vigils keep. 
8 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 

Two soldiers sat from the rest ai)art ; 

They talked of home, and of to-morrow ; 
Of kingly mien and noble hearts, 

Which now were filled with real sorrow. 

" Bob," the fair-haired soldier boy 

Said, as he clasped his comrade's hand, 

" To-morrow will bring either grief or joy 
To thousands of homes in our sunny land. 

" Bob, should I fall, to mother write ; 

Tell her I had no thought of fear ; 
That her boy was found in the thickest fight, 

And freely died for the land so dear. 

"Then one more song, Bob, let us sing, — 
One song, my own loved home, of thee ; 

What precious memories it around me brings, 
That home I never more may see !" 



WAYSIDE FLOWERS. Ill 

Clear and sweet on the night air still, 

Their voices rose in pathos deep; 
"Home, Sweet Home," the encampments fill, 

And angels bend o'er the scene to weep. 

The reveille beat at dawn of light ; 

The fair-haired boy led his brave band ; 
"Strike !" he cried, "for freemen's right; 

For home and country bravely stand." 

Night's sable curtains once more fall. 

But no sweet songs the encampment fill ; 

No more will he wake to the reveille's call ; 
His bounding heart is cold and still. 

And Bob his blanket sacredly folds 

Around the form of his comrade dear, 
And buries the brave boy, now so cold, — 
His only epitaph — a soldier's tear. 



NEWSPAPER NOTICES. 



\_From the NEWBERRY Herald, .S'. C.'\ 
Poems and Sketches. — We take infinite pleasure in 
calling the attention of the readers of the Herald to the 
pleasing fact that our intelligent correspondent, "Maggie " 
will at an early day give to the public a book of Poems and 
Sketches. The work is now in the hands of the publishers, 
Messrs. Whittet & Shepperson, Richmond, Va., as will be 
seen in the advertisement in another column. We feel 
assured that this little volume will have a warm welcome 
from the many who have for so long a time been catered 
to so agreeably through the Herald. We bespeak an 
earnest interest. We shall give due notice of its appear- 
ance, and will be glad to receive subscriptions. 

S^From the Hampton Guardian, .V. 6".] 
A book of Poems and Sketches, by a talented lady of 
the up country, who has been writing for some time under 



114 NI'AVSI'AIM'.R NOIKJi'-.S. 

the sljrnaUirc of " Ma^j^ic." This book will be a gem, 
and well worth I he price. Subscriptions received at this 
office. 

L/'>W// ///(■ SoUIIII'lkN ("IIKIS'IIAN AnVOCATK, 

(7i(irlcst(»i, .S". (".] 

Miss Maggik McNincji, of Williamston, S. C, a 
spirited writer of verse and prose, has compiled a small 
volume of her poems and sketches, which will soon be 
j)ublished by subscripti(jn. We bespeak an interest in the 
])ublic for this new candidate for patronage and favor. 
Sui)>.(:ri])tions will lie received by Thonias 1''. Oreneker, 
editor Neivbcryy I/crald, and Whittet «S: Shej^pcrson, 
publishers, Richmond, Va. Price %\. 



I /'/vv// ///,• (!()|,i;mi:i,\ KiccistI'.k, .V. C.\ 

A Nkvv Soutiikkn liooK. — Miss Maggie McNinch, 
the well known and |)opular corresjiondent of the AVtc;- 
hn-yy / Irralil^ who has been writiiiL; under the name of 
"Maggie," has written a volume; of short poems and 
sketches, which will be ])ul)li.lied by subscription. The 
volume will eom])rise from lOO to 150 pages, and not t(j 
exceed in price. f I. Subscribers' names will be received 



NEWSPAPER NOTICES. II5 

by Thomas P. Greneker, editor of the Nezuberry Herald, 
Newberry, S. C, or by Whittet & Shepperson, publishers, 
Richmond, Va. We are glad to see this, as every other, 
effort to create a Southern literature ; and we see no reason 
why, with proper encouragement, South Carolina should 
not develop as much native talent in this respect as other 
States have, and as much as she has herself developed in 
other respects. We have as inspiring traditions as any 
people on earth, as grand and beautiful scenery, as noble 
and intelligent people, and as great a future. All that is 
wanted is that whenever an author puts forth an effort, 
people should buy his book, and thus give him the en- 
couragement of their approbation, and at the same time 
render that material aid so necessary to the successful pur- 
suit of his work. 



l^From the ANDERSON Intelligencer, .V. C] 

Miss Maggie McNinch, an accomplished young lady 
of Williamston, has compiled a volume of from 100 to 150 
pages of her poems and sketches, which will soon be pub- 
lished by subscription. Subscriptions will be received by 
Thos. F. Greneker, editor Newberry Herald, and Whittet 
& Shepperson, publishers, Richmond Va. Price, $1. 



Il6 NEWSPAPER NOTICES. 

[J<'roi/i the Anderson Journal, S. C] 

We are glad to know that Miss Naggie McNinch, of 
Williamston, the well-known and popular correspondent of 
the Nezvherry Herald, who has been writing for some time 
past under the signature of '* Maggie," has compiled a vol- 
ume of her poems and sketches, which is soon to be pub- 
lished by subscription. The volume will contain from lOO 
to 150 pages, and the price will not exceed %\. Subscri- 
bers' names will be received by Thos. F. Greneker, editor 
of the Neivberry Herald, or by Whittet «& Shepperson, 
publishers, Richmond, Va. We hope the citizens of South 
Carolina will encourage this effort to increase the literature 
of our country. Its succcess will assist in publishing to the 
world the high standard of our culture and civilization, and 
at the same time tend to attract favorable attention to the 
land of our pride. Send in your names at once. 



Executive Mansion, Columbia, S. C. 
I WISH you every success in the publication of your 
work, and herewith place my name on your subscription 
list. THOS. B. JETER. 

Co7'. of South Carolina. 



